


Any Other Name

by Theriverwatcher



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Celebrations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s06e07 A Good Man Goes to War, F/M, Homesickness, Mothers and Daughters, Names, Rivers, The Gamma Forest, Water Sex, identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theriverwatcher/pseuds/Theriverwatcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is like a promise you make. He’d told her that once, but River couldn’t remember her promises. She couldn’t remember why they were worth keeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> River suffers a crisis of identity after the events of Demon's Run.

The people of Gamma lived in a small settlement nestled in a valley between the Nygone and Morley mountains. They took everything from the forest around them. They owed their livelihoods to it. Elaborate huts were carved from the precious wood of the Barella tree, covered with dried leaves, and adorned with delicate cloth woven from the wool of the stima, an inhabitant of the forest canopy. They found sustenance from the fruits and berries that grew along the forest floor and hunted its animals for meat. There was clay for their pottery, grain for their grog, dyes for paints they used to decorate their stima skins.  They wasted nothing that the forest had to offer them, for they remembered. 

It was not always this way, lush forest teeming with food and water, allowing the people their renaissance. Once, a very long time ago, the river of the Gamma forest ran dry. The trees died.  The animals fled.  And the people of Gamma nearly starved until The Prophesy, whispered once into the ears to two little girls, came true.

Today they celebrate the return of the river as they have done every year for the past half century.

River spent all morning sat in the dirt outside the familiar hut with her knees pulled up to her chest, watching the preparations. The tropical breeze that fanned through the valley floor was warm on her skin, fluttering with the edge of her robe. By midmorning, when the children were fed and faces cleaned, Nirobi joined her, pressing a warm clay bowl into River’s palm. Together they sat as they used to on the river’s banks, silent and reflective. There were three of them back then. Before Lorna joined the Church, following her mysterious prophet to a place called Demon’s Run where she ran with the Doctor one last time. She had died bravely, so River promised Nirobi, and though Nirobi’s sister was never mention, her presence was felt by both.   

Nirobi never asked River what was wrong, why she’d appeared at her hut late the night before, pale and bleary eyed, in want of a proper meal and a good night sleep. “Natstanéa,” she had grinned, guiding River inside with a gentle hand, “What wonderful timing. The festival is tomorrow. They will be pleased you came.”

River had smiled softly. It was the first time in a long while anyone was glad to see her.

_I don’t want you. I want her. I want Melody._

            As she nestled down into the soft cushions and furs, River listened to the gentle snores and sighs of Nirobi and her children and knew she’d made the right decision.  She needed a place where she brought peace, where she was not a memory of loss and broken promises.

            Amy’s face haunted her dreams, pale and stoic. Clammy hands clung at the front of River’s dress as if reaching for a lifeline. River did not provide

_Just tell us where you are and then he can go get you, yea? The Doctor can go and get you and bring you home and we’ll be a family like we’re supposed to be._

            River hadn’t seen her parents in over a year. It was the longest she’d been away from them since before she became Mels.

_What’s the point in you being here if you won’t tell us how to find you?_

She’d stayed away at her Mother’s request.

_Just go. Please, if you won’t help, just leave._

            Your name is like a promise you make. He’d told her that once, but River couldn’t remember her promises. She couldn’t remember why they were worth keeping.

 

Nirobi helped her dress for the festival. She gave her a new robe, made from the forest. It was a silky dark blue, just sheer enough to allow the pink of her own skin to peak through the fabric, giving the garment an iridescent appearance when she moved. It graced the edge of her shoulders, edging a deep v across her chest and dipping barely between her breasts. The hem and sleeves boasted ornate embroidery in gold thread, matching the sash that wrapped three times and tied tightly around her waist.

River, seated before a mirror, brushed fingers across the fabric as it ran along her chest. She didn’t think she deserved such a beautiful piece, had never done anything of importance really, and told Nirobi so. Nirobi just laughed, fingers buried in River’s curls, coaxing it into a traditional coiffure and jabbing another pin into place.

“Not sure I can think of anyone who deserves it more.” Her eyes were gentle and kind, more of a mother’s than a sister’s, and River wondered when that change had happened. It made her chest ache for her own mother.

River didn’t believe her, but she wore the robe anyway.

“Will he come?” Nirobi asked as they walked arm in arm, the children skipping ahead of them. River didn’t have to ask who they were speaking of.

“Probably not,” she shrugged; ignoring the buzzing deep in her belly that told her she wished it was otherwise. “I didn’t exactly send word that I was coming. There’s no reason he’d be looking for me.” Up ahead, the tall flames of the bonfire licked at the night sky. The heat warmed River’s cheeks until she was sure they blazed bright red.

The people greeted her warmly, tight hugs and foreheads pressed to her knuckles, as was their way. Their chief smiled brightly at her, “Natstanéa,” he hummed, cupping her face in his rough hands, “it is good to see you and so well and healthy.” Smooth lips pressed to her forehead and River’s fingers curled around his thick wrists. When her eyes dropped shut, her lashes released a tear down her cheek.

They ate a feast of stima and prinet, and washed it down with grog. River’s cheeks really did warm then and she gave her laughs more freely, the ache of regret easing in her chest, almost unrecognizable. Yes, this was a good decision.

After dinner, she taught all the boys how to line up wooden targets and knock them down with their sling shots. She let the girls weave flowers into her hair. When the musicians played the marchenata, River hoisted her robe to free her feet. She bent her ankles and stomped her heels and an arm through hers pulled her into a circle of dancers as it wound its way around the fire. Eventually dirt caked her bare feet and perspiration shimmered across her skin. Her hair loosened and curls fell about her shoulders.

She danced to forget and she danced to remember.

She took a break when the song ended, collapsing exhausted and out of breath onto a tree stump to watch the merriment unfold around her. It was then that Olivette, Nirobi’s youngest, sought her out, cheeks flushed with child’s play. The little girl beamed an impish grin and pressed her little body against River’s side, cupping a chubby hand to her ear.

“The Warrior is here.” River’s breath caught in her throat.

The little girl’s eyes lifted to a point over River’s shoulder. Just outside of the flicker of firelight, stood a lonely figure leaning against a tree. It was the Doctor- the breadth of his shoulders, the silhouette of his tweed, the awkward angles of his arms and legs poised in fleeting grace. It was _her_ Doctor.

He looked tired, she thought once she could see his face. His eyes were ancient and scarred, his shoulders sagged as though he carried a tremendous burden. He watched her carefully and River supposed she looked much the same to him.  But he smiled at her. Almost with relief.

“What are you doing hiding back here?” She asked, reaching his side. There was no “hello, sweetie,” for this encounter. They were both too tired.

“Just watching the festivities.” His eyes ran the length of her body, but it wasn’t his usual appreciative stare. Instead, it was discerning. He saw skin too pale and dark circles beneath her eyes, collar bones that stood out a little more than they should, and a carefully fabricated smile.

“I’ve been looking for you. For a specific you.” He admitted, his voice quiet and gentle as though she were some exotic bird that might scare away. Perhaps she was. “You’ve just done Demon’s Run. The second time, I mean.”

River gave a bitter little laugh, “that was over a year ago, dear.” And she resented him. Resented him for bringing the pain back when she’d almost just fooled herself into forgetting, but he didn’t mind. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, thumb trailing over the curve of her cheek. Gentle. She hadn’t answered his question, and they both knew it. “I can’t tell you,” she mumbled, turning her face away from him, unwilling to see the disappointment in his eyes. There was always disappointment. “Please don’t ask me.”

River wondered why she told him no. Why she told anyone no. Was it his rule or hers, and what would happen if she finally broke under all the weight? What would happen if she just once said, “yes.”

“River, I’m not… That’s not why I’m here.” Hands slipped around hers, warm and firm, not asking her for assurance, but offering her his. “Are you ok?”

“Oh sweetie,” she sighed. “Shouldn’t you be asking my parents that?”

“I have… I did…” a hand squeezed hers. “Amy told me what she said.”

River gave a sharp shake of her head, forcing a smile. All the excuses sat on the tip of her tongue,   _It’s not important,_ _It doesn’t matter, She was just upset,_ but she couldn’t bring herself to say them. She was certain they weren’t true. Instead, a confession rolled from her lips.

“I keep waiting for them to change, for my memories of them to fade and shift, all those Christmases, adventures, all the late nights in the TARDIS. I keep thinking that they’ll all to go away. But they haven’t.” 

“Perhaps they won’t.”

“But we don’t know that do we? I’m trying so hard to keep the timeline intact and for what? Doctor, I’m breaking their hearts when I am fully capable of healing them.” If anyone was to understand, it would be him. Wouldn’t it? Yet he stared back at her through these eyes that were sure and confident and she just felt more lost.

She turned abruptly and moved deeper into the forest. He followed.

Together they wove themselves into the tree line, over roots and rocks, the terrain sloping gently under their feet. The sounds of the forest hummed around them, drowning out all evidence of the celebrations in the village. In the distance a prinet bird called to her mate.

 “There once was a prophet who came down from the sky.” She began, eyes lifted to the forest canopy. Between the leaves she could make out the scattering of stars, shining faithfully upon them, lighting their way, but only disclosing what was necessary. “The forest was dead then. The river ran dry and the people were left without hope. They hadn’t seen rain for fifteen seasons. One morning two little girls left the village in search of food. They wandered deep into the forest and lost their way. Night was quickly approaching when the prophet appeared before them, a mad man with funny clothes and floppy hair. He carried a stick of lightning in his pocket that shined green at his touch.” She considered him from the corner of her eye, as they walked, a smirk slanting her lips. “He took their hands and whispered… run.”

River blazed a trail into the forest, her long robe flowing behind her.

The forest seemed to swallow them whole. Branches and leaves bent for their passing and closed behind them with little more than a soft rustle to betray their presence. River’s bare feet slapped against the forest floor. She sprinted over boulders, clamored over logs. Sweat dotted her brow and her lungs burned with life for the first time in ages, and she never looked back. He was always behind her. Up ahead, the sound of running water grew louder.

She stopped at the edge of the river. Stars glinted off water as it moved lazily along the river bed. On the opposite bank water trickled down a tall rock ravine. River heaved a lavish breathe, feeling the adrenaline spread down her arms and through her fingers. Tension melted from her muscles. She turned to the Doctor who’d only just arrived and was leaning against a tree for support, chest heaving in time with her own.

“He told them that they would find a child here, along the river, and that she would defeat the gods who stole the water.”

“Did they?” 

“They did.” She turned back to the river, staring into the slow moving current, caught in the memory.  She lifted the edges of her robe and padded into the cool liquid. It rushed over her feet, between her toes, up her ankles. “She’d escaped the palace of the gods and walked until her feet bled and she could go no farther. She was starving and thirsty. At first the girls tried to care for her themselves, but she was too ill and they were forced to take her to the village. She promised them that if she lived she would return to the gods and destroy their powers. She would bring them back the river.” Fingers worked nimbly at the front of her sash, as she spoke, pulling it from its knot and inching the fabric of her robe over her shoulders. It glided down her back as she tossed it away. Her skin shone smooth and silver in the starlight.

He called to her, though she seemed worlds away.

The water took her breath away, crisp and cool, washing the perspiration from her body as it engulfed her. It was disorienting at first, when she dove to the river’s depths and water surrounded her on all sides, above and below. Slowly, she recognized the light of the surface. When she broke through, the Doctor was standing at water’s edge, alarmed, sans jacket and shoes.

She grinned.

He frowned.

“Care for a swim?” She called to him.

“River, this is a sacred river. I don’t think they’d much care for us using it as a swimming hole.”

She shrugged, unconcerned, “My river, my rules,” and turned for the opposite bank. She could hear him calling her name behind her. He could follow or not. She didn’t rightly care.

There was a splash. And an arm that wrapped around her waist, dunking her under the surface. She reemerged laughing and spluttering. She splashed him in the face and turned for the cliff facing. He followed. She dodged. Fingers clasped around her ankle. She twirled. He splashed. She laughed. And so did he.

When they got to the rocked wall she took his hand in hers and dove beneath the surface, searching out the place where the rocks divided. She disappeared into the crevasse and he  blindly followed.

They emerged in a cavern enclosed by jagged rocks that reached high above their heads. Star light trickled down through an opening in the top, casting the room in a silvery blue.

“One of the safest places to be in the whole forest,” she declared as he looked about himself, admiring the sediment patterns in the rocks, the lines of their fissures. He could read the forest’s entire geological history just from these walls, she knew. She could too, “only Nirobi and I know its here.” She swam over to a group of rocks that lead to a little ledge, fingers curling into the crevice, pulling herself partway out of the water when she felt a hand grip her hip.

“What happened to her?”

She looked down at him, puzzled. “She kept her promise. Defeated the gods. Returned the river.”

“After that.”

She shook her head, and turned back to the wall, but his hand held firm. Gradually, her grip loosed and she turned herself, bracing her back against the rocks and looking down at him. His chest pressed into her belly “The rains came.” She whispered, saliva clicking against her teeth and tongue the way the water clicked at the rocks.  “The clouds collected and water came. Plants began to appear and so did the fauna. First insects, then animals. Days passed and still the girl did not return. They counted her lost.”

He watched, captivated, as she spoke and she trailed absentminded fingers along his collarbone. “Then one day she appeared, walking down the still dry riverbed. Her friends were the first to realize who she was. They knew her by her movements only. She was barely recognizable, for in order to destroy the gods she consumed fire, became fire, and burned.” The hand on her hip twitched at the image.

“At her feet was a trickle that grew into a stream as she got closer. By the time she made it to the village the water had multiplied and deepened. It swallowed her whole. The people feared they had lost her, but then the water began to glow, bright gold like fire. It started in the center and shot through the water, upstream and down. It is said that you could see the entire path of the river as it lit through the forest. Then, it slowly began to fade and a figure appeared in the center, swimming to shore. The girl had been healed, with new skin and new hair and a new face that bore no trace of her battle.”

They stared at one another in the silence, gentle fingers brushing at her hip and moving over her side. He ran his smooth palm along her abdomen, trailing river water as he went and gooseflesh pimpled her skin.

“Natstanéa” she said suddenly, so quietly that she could barely hear herself.

“That’s what they call you here.”

She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip, “it’s the name of the river. It’s the only name they have for her, but few lips outside of the Gamma forest can pronounce it properly.”  His brow furrowed, lips pursed, and then –

“Natstanéa,” He whispered to her, addressing her for the first time. Her name. The sound mixed with his breath, lips forming around the strange syllables. It would be a lie to say that the sound of it in his tenor didn’t send a tingle across her skin. Her name on his lips. “How was that?”

She pressed her fingers to his mouth, tracing its outline as her own hovered just above his. “The best I’ve heard yet.”

“Natstanéa,” he whispered again as her mouth covered his, seeking the taste of her name on his tongue. Perhaps then she could remember why one was better than the next. Why she chose Natstanéa over Melody. Why she must do so again.

He tasted of electricity and sweat and a slightest bit of the Forest. River wanted to think that bit was her and she dipped her tongue into his mouth to seek it out. The heat of his body seeped into her own amid the cool water, stilling the chaos that rage deep within. All she needed was him. All she ever needed was him.  

They scrambled for one another, alternating between warm touches and the cool chill of isolation. She unwrapped a hand from where it still clung to a rock ledge and draped an arm over his shoulder, pulling herself closer. He was steady and solid, tall enough to root his toes into the rocky bottom and she kicked her legs up and floated into him, curling her body around his and clinging to his permanence. His arms moved to cradle her back, pulling her closer so that every inch of them touched. He occupied all the places that she did not.

She groaned when he slid into her, letting her head fall back against the wet rocks, relishing the feel of him inside her, stretching her. His fingers sought leverage behind her, dipping into crevices and wrapping around crags. Stony peaks dug deep into her back.

It was just them coupled together in an undiscovered cavern. Water lapped gently at their skin, keeping time with their synchronized rhythm, their breathless moans. And when she came, she clung to his shoulders and shuddered, riding his rhythm to absolution.  

He held her as their breathing returned to normal, peppering her shoulder with soft kisses and gentle touches over her legs, hips, and back, smooth skin once destroyed by horror and war.

It was near sunrise when they swam back. He steadied her as she emerged from the river on shaky legs, water glistening down the curves of her body. She might have once been a water nymph, he mused when she knelt by the water’s edge to wring out her hair. He had already buttoned his trousers and shrugged on his shirt when she reached for her robe. The sheer fabric clung to her damp skin.

“They would know instantly,” he said, draping his bow tie around his neck. She looked up at him, only one side of her robe pulled shut. The other draped off her shoulder exposing a smooth breast and dark nipple that stood taunt in the pre-dawn air. “if Natstanéa were to fade from this universe and Melody took her place.” She smiled softly at him, indulgent but skeptical.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, hands brushing hers aside and pulling her robe around her as he continued. “and not just them. All over this universe there are people, places, artifacts that would be profoundly changed if River Song ceased to exist. Least of all me.”

“Say it again,” she commanded and he looked up at her, his wet fringe falling in front of his eyes.

He smiled, a lopsided grin that made him look fifteen, and cupped her face in strong hands. “River Song?” She nodded, and turned her face into his hands, placing a gentle kiss to hiss palm. “Archaeologist. Child of the TARDIS. Daughter of the Ponds. Savior of the river.” It was her, all her. All she ever was. All she ever would be. She remembered now. She didn’t choose. She never chose. She lived them all. The Doctor bent forward and pressed a firm kiss to her temple. “It’s over now, River. Amy said it’s time to come home.”  

River laughed as the tight ache finally shattered in her chest, vanishing with such force that tears stung her eyes and she breathed unburdened.

Home.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a bit of an experiment with length and tone. I hope it worked! As always I love hearing from you.


End file.
